


Hyphen

by dogpoet



Series: Punctuation [6]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Italy, M/M, Phone Sex, Texting, punctuation, rumpy-pumpy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet/pseuds/dogpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People were always saying Italy was romantic, but Lewis didn’t think text messages about rumpy-pumpy were what they had in mind when they said that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hyphen

**Author's Note:**

> > Beta by [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/simoneallen/profile)[**simoneallen**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/simoneallen/)
> 
> I'm having some trouble with the symbols in this story, and some of them might not show up in reader files (epub, mobi) because I had to code them in html. If anyone knows how to fix that, please feel free to tell me.

**hy·phen** (noun): a short line (-) used to connect the parts of a compound word or the parts of a word divided for any purpose.

‘’ 

It had been a long day of travel followed by the search for a place to eat dinner, and Lewis was just settling in at the hotel, hanging his shirts in the wardrobe and looking forward to a good sleep, when his phone beeped, alerting him that he had a text message.

Better not be work, he thought, crossing the room to where his phone lay on the bedside table. No one outside of work texted him. He checked the display. Hathaway. Of course James would text him. He opened the message:

Are you there?  
My phone won't make ' '  
Curled the way I want them,  
But you know what I mean.

Lewis smiled. We're here & I miss you too, he texted back. He remembered how James looked lying in bed, waiting for him. Funny how you could get used to some things so quickly.

Lewis unpacked the history book Lyn had sent him before the trip. He still hadn’t read it, but James had. He’d relayed information over breakfast and before bed, and he’d marked important pages with tiny paper flags. Lyn would take one look at those flags and know her dad hadn’t put them there.

James kept popping into his mind, even while he brushed his teeth. Not at first, but after they’d spent several nights together, James had begun wandering about while brushing. Bathroom to bedroom, sometimes reading as he brushed. He was a funny one.

The water in Florence tasted different to the water in Oxford. Lewis wasn’t sure how he felt about it. It made him a bit homesick, truth be told, even though he was looking forward to spending time with Lyn. The last time he’d visited Italy was with Morse. Then, he’d been homesick for Val and the kids, worried about getting back in time for Tom’s sports day. Travel was different when you had someone waiting at home for you.

The bed felt empty without James. They’d hardly spent a night apart since the first night. Lewis lay in darkness of the hotel room, listening to unfamiliar street noise, footsteps in the corridor, and a strange hum somewhere. After an hour of tossing and turning, he switched on the lamp and tried to read a bit of the history book. One of James’s flags had a note on it, scrawled in his nearly indecipherable writing: _ref. in EMF, medieval_. What did that mean? The note was clearly not intended for Lewis, but was James’s note to himself. Hathaway’s brain was a mystery. A beautiful mystery.

The book hadn’t got any more interesting since the last time he’d picked it up. Lewis set it aside. He turned on the television, but soon turned it off. Midnight. Too late to call James? No, it was later in Florence. Lewis picked up his phone. But what would he say? He and James often sat together, saying things here and there while eating or having a pint. The phone was just talking. It wouldn’t be like it was with Lyn, who was a chatterbox. Besides, he’d seen James that morning. James had kissed him, right there at the airport kerb! Lewis would have to have a sit-down with him regarding public affection. It had embarrassed him even with Val. His talk with Laura aside, Lewis wasn’t ready to have the world know about his personal life.

He rang James.

“Sir,” James said, answering immediately.

Lewis suppressed the impulse to correct the ‘Sir’. Until James made up his mind to call him ‘Robbie’, there was nothing to be done. “Were you asleep?” he asked, adjusting his position in bed, getting comfortable.

“Reading.”

Lewis could picture that perfectly: James sitting up in his bed, wearing his boxers, deep in some history book or whatnot.

“How was your flight?”

“Fine,” Lewis said. He’d wanted to ask James something, but the thought had fled his mind. It was canny just to have him on the line. He could hear James breathing.

“Mm.”

“And work?”

“Nothing to report,” James said. “Paperwork for the de Ritter/Suskin case.”

“Ah. I’m having trouble falling asleep.” A yawn undermined Lewis’s statement.

“Strange bed,” James suggested.

“I sleep like a log in your bed,” Lewis said, reaching to turn off the lamp.

“Do you?”

“Yeah.” Lewis lay there listening to James breathe for a minute. He remembered now. “What’s EMF medieval?”

“EMF medieval?”

“Something you wrote on one of the notes in that book.”

“Oh.” There was a pause as James thought. “What was the page in the book?”

“Don’t remember.” Lewis didn’t have the energy to turn on the light and check.

“EMF. Forster, maybe?”

“Forster?”

“E.M. Forster. Maybe something from _Room with a View_.”

It meant nothing to Lewis. The world was getting a bit fuzzy. “Mm,” Lewis mumbled.

“Hang up, sir. You’ll go over your minutes if we fall asleep connected.”

Groggily, Lewis obeyed, forgetting to say goodnight.

‘’ 

A soft beep brought Lewis from half-asleep to waking. He blinked a few times and adjusted to the fact that he was in an unfamiliar room. Faint sunlight reached through the blinds. As his vision crystallised, he caught sight of his phone, which lay on the sheet near his face. He picked the phone up and opened the waiting message. It read:

I miss waking up (( with you.

Lewis smiled. He was growing accustomed to Hathaway’s odd shorthand. The parentheses were the two of them, weren’t they? Must be. Spooned together. You could read it without the parentheses, too. I miss waking up with you. Either way. Like a poem.

No clever response came to Lewis’s mind. Instead, he sat up and typed: I slept well thanks to you.

James didn’t text back. He was probably getting ready for work. Walking around the flat in his boxers, trying to find a shirt and tie combination that suited his mood. He was particular that way. Lewis just put on the shirt hanging nearest. Then he chose a tie that seemed to match.

Lyn wouldn’t be up for an hour, at least. She took after Val, sleeping in when there was nothing to wake her. He’d let her sleep. Pregnant women needed more sleep, didn’t they? Lewis burrowed back under the covers, enjoying the fact that he didn’t need to look at any dead bodies. Of course, being on holiday meant no James either. No warm, grabby octopus in his arms. Maybe they should go on holiday together. But would they stay in the same room? They could get two rooms and sneak into one, he supposed. What did other men do when they went on holiday together? He wasn’t used to thinking about these things. James would probably do the one room. Lewis felt slightly guilty for wanting two. No point worrying about it. They weren’t on holiday. They’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

What would have happened if he and Laura had gone to that show like they’d planned to? Would she have come to his hotel room? He wasn’t certain what he would have done. Well, that was in the past. They’d both moved on. Funny how he’d taken to James right away. They’d got to the rumpy-pumpy in record time. Lewis could have put the brakes on if he’d wanted to. But he hadn’t wanted to. Not at all.

‘’ 

A few days later, Lewis’s phone beeped softly from within his pocket while he was sitting in a restaurant with Lyn, eating spaghetti with lentils — his new favourite. Lewis opened his phone and stared at the small screen, trying to decipher the message. He brought the phone closer to his face, then moved it farther away. It wasn’t a vision problem, it was a Hathaway problem. He was being mysterious again.

“What is it?” Lyn asked.

Given the nature of the last few messages James had sent, this one had to be a bit suggestive, but Lewis couldn’t make it out. He shook his head. “Nothing. James.” He closed his phone.

“He texts you a lot, which — first of all, he expects you to text? And second: Is it a case?”

“No. He’s just being an annoying sod.”

Lyn laughed. “You like him.”

“Yeah, I do.”

She was so good-natured, his Lyn. Always laughing, chatting with people they met in Florence. She’d become the type to help old ladies carry their shopping to the car park. She hadn’t always been like that. Teen years, awful! Slamming doors and telling him to piss off. This Lyn was more recent. Was it just that she’d grown up? Or had Val’s death made her into someone different?

“I’m glad. He’s good for you.”

Sometimes people said things that made Lewis wonder if they knew. He gave Lyn a quick glance, but she was busy eating her pasta. She looked happy and healthy, her brown hair tied in a messy knot on her neck.

“I worry about you down there, you know. I wish you’d move up north with us,” Lyn continued.

“I wouldn’t know a soul in Manchester.”

“I guess not. I wish it wasn’t so far. When the baby comes, you’ll visit more often, won’t you?”

Holidays in Manchester would mean no James. They couldn’t really go on holiday together, anyway. What would Innocent say? A shame, in a way, that they worked together. But he’d retire in a few years. _If you go, I go_ , James had said. Would they still be together? He thought so, yes. He didn’t know why.

“Dad?”

“Sorry, pet, what?”

“You’ll come visit after the baby.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“But?”

Lewis twirled spaghetti on his fork. “But nothing.” It made him a bit sad to keep things from Lyn.

Lyn watched him. “Are you dating Laura?” she asked suddenly.

“What? No. What makes you think —?”

“You seem… I don’t know. It would be okay with me, you know. I want you to be happy.”

“I’m not dating her.”

“Are you thinking about it?”

“No!”

Lyn laughed again. “All right, I’ll stop badgering you. But something’s going on. You seem different.”

“I’m happy to see you,” Lewis said. And he was.

“Uh-huh,” Lyn answered, noisily slurping a strand of spaghetti on purpose, like she’d done when she was a kid.

Lewis smiled and tried not to think about his phone. He could feel it, warm and waiting in his pocket, with the undeciphered message from James.

Later, after dinner, when he’d kissed Lyn goodnight and had gone to his own room, Lewis sat on the bed and opened up his phone again. The message said:

My ! misses your ¡  
My fingers miss your *

More bloody punctuation. Lewis studied the screen. Exclamation marks. What — ? Oh. Was that right? An exclamation mark was his willy? His face grew hot and tingly. Thank God he hadn’t figured out the message at dinner. And the second line was worse. There was no mistaking that one. Lewis couldn’t believe he’d even let James do that. Well, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew gay men did — that. Had sex that way, but somehow fingers seemed more intimate than that, even. James had gone so far as to kiss him there. It was embarrassing remembering it. But it had felt nice — more than nice. James sprawled on top of him, fingers and mouth everywhere.

He debated deleting the message. What if someone looked at his phone? But he rather liked all of Hathaway’s messages, and the phone kept them all strung together in a conversation with his replies. It was sentimental to keep them, but there was nothing for it. His favourite was:

I miss holding your face in my `<` `>`

Hands, that was. James’s hands cupped around his face as they kissed.

Lewis texted back: You blighter! I was having dinner with Lyn when you sent this!

Sometimes he felt too old for James. He’d had a few moments of thinking James ought to find someone younger. But he’d tried, hadn’t he? And it had never worked out. A bit fragile, he was. He needed someone who knew to be gentle with him. He was still a child in so many ways. How old had he been at Crevecoeur? Just a lad. Lewis had never asked for the details. He’d wondered if it might come up, but it hadn’t. If James decided he wanted to talk about it, he would. Truth be told, Lewis didn’t like to think about what had happened, and he reckoned James felt the same way.

His phone beeped. He opened the message:

I miss  
Kissing your …  
And your *  
And your ¡

The dots? Ah, his spine. Yes, James did like that. Lewis lay back on the pillows, toeing his shoes onto the floor. He suddenly missed James terribly, all the odd things he said and did. The puzzle of his brain. Lewis thought about texting back, but he was bad at texting. Instead, he dialled James’s number.

“Sir.”

“Hi.”

There was a moment of silence. They were no good on the phone if there wasn’t a case to discuss.

“What are you doing?” Lewis asked, finally.

“Playing my guitar.”

“Ah. I’m in my hotel room.”

“I deduced as much. Where did you go today?”

“Boboli Gardens. It was nice to walk around. It’s warm here.”

“Sixteenth century,” Hathaway said.

The gardens? Must be.

“And the palace, then?”

“Yeah. And walked along the river.”

“How’s your Lyn.”

“She seems happy. Happier than she used to be.” Lewis began taking off his belt and trousers. Talking to James made him want to climb into bed. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder to free his hands. “She says I ought to come up more often.”

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed. I wish you were here.”

There was a long moment of silence. “What are you wearing?”

“What? I’m wearing what I always wear to bed.”

There was a lull in the conversation. It sounded as if James was doing something, but Lewis couldn’t figure out what. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, then got under the covers in his boxers and t-shirt.

“When you’re with me, you sleep naked.”

He hadn’t done that with Val, not even before the kids. She always wore pyjamas to bed. “You sleep naked, and I like feeling you next to me.”

“Sir?”

“What?”

“I’m naked in my bed, and I think you should be naked in your bed.”

Lewis stared at the ceiling. Where did Hathaway come up with these things? He reached to turn off the lamp. He hadn’t brushed his teeth yet, but he wasn’t going to do that on the phone, and he wasn’t ready to hang up just yet.

“I don’t understand you,” Lewis said.

There was a huff of laughter. “I like you naked.”

“I’m nothing to look at.”

“To me, you are.”

Lewis didn’t know what to say to that, so he said, “Hang on, then.” He set the phone down and pulled his shirt off. Then his boxers. The sheets felt nice against his bare skin. He tried not to think about the things on hotel sheets. One of the downsides of being a copper was knowing what was on hotel sheets. Carpets were worse. He picked up the phone again.

“Happy?”

“Mm,” Hathaway said, sounding distracted. “I miss the rumpy-pumpy.”

“Yeah, I picked that up,” Lewis said. “I miss it, too.” Not just the sex, but having someone touch him again. And the sleeping afterwards. He liked James beside him. He was feeling a bit warm from thinking about it. He also had a feeling he knew what James was doing. Imagining that made him even warmer. He lightly stroked himself until his cock grew hard in his hand.

“What are you doing now?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Tell me.”

“I’m not going to tell you. It’s bad enough I’m doing it without my talking about it.”

“I’m corrupting you.”

“Yeah.”

Lewis licked his thumb and rubbed the head of his cock. James liked when he did that, he’d noticed. He closed his eyes, taking his time, not really going for result, letting his arousal build slowly, listening to James’s breathing quickening hundreds of miles away. It was strange not to be able to touch him, press their mouths together. He more than missed James. His body missed him. It was almost painful.

“Sir,” James said, at last, and Lewis knew what that meant.

“I’ve got to hang up now,” Lewis said. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do this while James was listening.

“Propriety,” James said, sounding rumbly. “Mm.”

Lewis smiled. “Goodnight, you awkward sod.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

Lewis hung up and set the phone aside. It didn’t take long to bring himself off, imagining James spread out in his bed. When he was done, he was sleepy, too sleepy to get up and brush his teeth. Lying there naked made him feel like James was there with him, because he only slept naked with James, and before he knew it, he was asleep.

‘’ 

James had been right. San Miniato felt different to any other church Lewis had been in. Why was that? It was quiet inside, and Lewis could hear each movement of the people around him. Sunlight streamed through small, high windows. God looking in? Maybe that was the reason for the design. Lewis wasn’t one to think about God. Life was life. Death was death. He didn’t believe in heaven, but when he stood in a place like this, looking at what people had made in the name of God, he wondered if he might be wrong. Maybe Val was somewhere out there, keeping an eye on him. He couldn’t really feel her presence anymore, not the way he had in the days — weeks, even — immediately following her death, when he could have sworn she was in the house. Her step, her voice. Turning to say things to her, only to find she wasn’t there in the chair beside him. He’d even felt she might guide him to the right suspect, tell him who’d taken her life. But she hadn’t. The case had been solved with good old-fashioned detective work by James. Was that God? The work you did in life? That saying about the devil in the details, that was wrong. It was God, really. God in the details, speaking through them.

He was being fanciful. It was a church. Nothing more. People hadn’t questioned God back when it had been built. But it was beautiful. No wonder James liked these places. It felt like you were close to something else, something not from this world. What he’d give to be in James’s head for a day. See this place as he would. Churches weren’t just buildings to him. A bit like refuges, maybe. Solace. Where James went when he was feeling out of sorts with the world. He wondered what James might say if he’d been there… Not that he ever said much. Mysterious, he was. Lewis had touched every part of him, but James was still a puzzle. But he hadn’t touched _every_ part, had he? Would James be less of a mystery once he had? Probably not.

Lyn stopped beside him, and Lewis felt a brief flush of embarrassment. He’d been thinking untoward things. In church. With his daughter nearby. It was a good thing she couldn’t read his mind. Maybe James was corrupting him, after all.

“It makes me think of mum,” Lyn said. “Like I could talk to her.”

Lewis gazed up at the sunlit windows. He’d been thinking about James, not Val. She was gone from the world now. Not less important. Just…gone. She’d filled his head and his heart for so long. Supplanter. His name. James.

Lyn took his arm. She reminded him more of Val every day. The way she looked at things. Her impulsiveness. If she wanted to say something, she said it. He liked that. She hugged and kissed people she’d just met. Invited co-workers to her house on holidays if they’d nowhere to go. Physically, too — that wave to her hair and, even before her pregnancy, that bit of plumpness she was always trying to slim off. That smile. Like a piece of Val was still alive. DNA. How much of Val would there be in the baby? Diluted. No original to look at, even if the genes were there.

Lyn leant into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Dad?”

He turned to her. Patted her arm. “I miss her, too, love.”

He hadn’t intended to let her go, but it was happening, wasn’t it? He thought of her less. Maybe it was good. Think about the living more. Lyn and Tom. James. Laura. People who could fill real spaces, people who could talk to you with words you hadn’t already heard them say, people who could surprise you, or make you surprise yourself.

‘’ 

The aeroplane hummed steadily, showing nothing out the window but clouds. Beside Lewis, Lyn slept. Sleeping for two. Lewis closed his eyes for a minute. He was tired, the way he always was after travelling. It would be good to get home. To James. That was home now, wasn’t it? Even a year ago, Lewis might have preferred to keep travelling rather than face his empty flat.

Lyn made a sound, and Lewis opened his eyes to look over at her.

She blinked. “How long was I asleep?”

“Half an hour,” Lewis said, checking his watch.

Lyn looked around her. Curious as a child. She’d be a good mother.

“I’m told I’ll have to go to the loo all the time pretty soon. It’s lucky we went on our trip when we did.”

Lewis smiled. “Yeah, I remember that.” Waiting for Val in department stores, restaurants, libraries.

“I wish she were here to give me advice.”

“You get on with Alex’s mum.”

“I know. Still. It’s not the same. Mum’ll never get to meet him. Or her.” Lyn placed a hand on her belly.

Lewis couldn’t think of anything to say to that. His Lyn. He wished he could’ve given her a different life, but some things couldn’t be changed. You changed the things you could, he supposed. “We’ll come up for Christmas,” he said, finally.

“We?” Eyebrows up.

Lewis felt blood rushing to his face. “I will,” he corrected. He’d been thinking about taking James up to see Lyn. Should he? What would she say?

“We’d like if you brought someone.” She took his hand.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Who’s picking you up at the airport?” she asked after a moment.

“James.”

“He’s quite devoted.”

“Yeah,” Lewis admitted. He never would have taken Morse to the airport.

“I think he’s sweet on you. Not that you aren’t good company, but…rides to the airport, text messages, dinner...” She poked him with her elbow.

“The lad’s lonely. He hasn’t got a family of his own.” Lewis was the closest thing James had. He’d never thought of it in quite that way.

“You didn’t tell me. He’s young, isn’t he? What happened to them?”

All that Lewis knew of James’s family, he’d picked up from the case at Crevecoeur or from stray hints James had offered now and then. It wasn’t much to go on. “He doesn’t talk about them. I think his mum might have killed herself.”

Lyn considered this information. “You should bring him up for Christmas. If I’d known, I would have told you to before. Where does he go, usually?”

“Church, I think.”

“Dad! I can’t believe you let him do that!” Her mouth set stubbornly. Just like Val. “Ask him, at least, will you?”

“It’s six months away!”

“Well, ask him in six months,” she insisted. “It’s too bad I’ve got a connecting flight. I won’t get to meet him today.”

That was a relief. Lewis wasn’t ready to introduce James to Lyn. His relief only increased when they landed, and he turned on his phone. The waiting text message said:

Excited ! To see you ¡

He quickly stowed the phone back in his pocket.

“Where to?” he asked Lyn when they’d disembarked.

“You don’t need to walk me.”

“I know.” He took her carry-on.

“I’m going to have to haul this baby around soon. Best build up my strength.” She took the bag back.

Val would’ve done the same thing. Lewis smiled, and they walked together towards her gate.

“I guess this is it,” Lyn said.

“Take care of yourself, pet.” Lewis hugged her tightly, resting his chin on her head. He held her for a long minute.

“Dad,” she said, sounding tearful.

“I’ll be up soon. I promise.”

They parted. Lewis might have been a bit teary himself, but he tried not to show it. He’d miss her, his Lyn. She lived a whole life without him now. All those years growing up, she’d been under the same roof, and he’d hardly had time for her. It pained him to see her so little now. Years flew by. Time was always running, and you couldn’t make it stop, could you? No matter what you did.

Walking away, he looked back once to see her waving.

‘’ 

The moment Lewis entered the baggage claim area, he saw Hathaway waiting, looking shy and awkward and very tall. He’d obviously come from work, dressed as he was in a pink shirt, green tie, and light suit. Poor sod must have got stuck in traffic at this hour. Lewis waved, gratitude flooding through him. James didn’t wave back, but he smiled.

“How was the flight?” he asked.

“Fine,” Lewis said, laying a hand lightly at the small of James’s back. The need to touch him was overpowering. He hadn’t realised until James was right there, real and present.

“Sir,” James uttered in a low voice.

“Yeah, I know,” Lewis agreed. He couldn’t wait to get James home and kiss him properly.

In the chaos of getting the luggage, there was little conversation beyond distracted small talk. Then they walked to the car park, quiet. The jingle of keys and the loud click of the doors unlocking broke the silence. Lewis put his bags in the boot and got in the passenger side.

When James got in, Lewis said, “James?”

“Sir?”

Lewis leant to kiss him, suddenly not caring if there were people in the car park. When he pulled away, James chased after him, hand on his jaw. The position was awkward, but Lewis let James kiss him for a minute before reluctantly parting from him.

“Home, James,” he said.

‘’ 

The route back to Lewis’s flat took them near the cemetery. Lewis looked over at James, who was fairly radiating joy. It never ceased to amaze him that he could make James so happy. Life handed you all kinds of strange things. He didn’t like to ruin James’s mood — the ride had been all travel talk, James asking about this and that, telling Lewis facts about religious orders and architecture. Lewis had promptly forgotten everything. How did it all stay in James’s brain?

“Can we make a stop?”

His hand on the gear stick. Lewis loved those hands. James glanced at him. Then he seemed to realise what Lewis meant. “Are you all right, sir?”

“She’s been on me mind is all. Being away, I suppose.”

James nodded. “And Lyn.”

“And Lyn. More like Val every day.” Lewis stared out at the passing town. Almost 40 years he’d lived here. He couldn’t imagine anywhere else as home.

They rode on in silence, and a few minutes later, Hathaway steered the car into the cemetery gates. The summer evening light lingered, but the cemetery was empty.

Lewis got out and shut the car door. “I haven’t any flowers,” he said.

“Shall I get you some?” James looked at him across the roof of the car, one hand still on the door.

Worried, he was. “A bit late for the shops,” Lewis said. “She’ll have to make do with me.”

James nodded, staying where he was.

“Come on, then.”

“Sir?”

Lewis gestured. James slammed his door and followed Lewis across the grass, a silent shadow.

There was a familiar smell in the air. Val would have known what flower. She’d spent more time in the garden than he had. Lovely and sweet. Reminded him of her for no reason at all other than he liked it.

When they reached her, Lewis knelt to clear the old flowers and to brush the debris away. He let his hand rest on the stone. He had things he wanted to say to her, ask her, but he could only guess at her answers. Looking up at James, he asked, “You believe in heaven?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Can she see down here? I often wonder.”

“I don’t know. Do you want her to?”

“I’d like it if we both could know the other was all right.” Lewis stood. His life. Then and now. The first time he and James had met, James had brought him here. He’d waited at the airport with a sign in his hands. He’d offered himself after the case. He’d said, _Take me. I’m yours if you want me._ Those were the kinds of things that made you believe God existed. Brought your faith back when it had been taken away. Some people never found love at all. He’d had 20 years with Val. And now? Even fewer people found love twice.

“We’d best get on,” Lewis said. The light was fading.

“Are you sure?”

In answer, Lewis moved his hand to Hathaway’s back again and began walking. If he’d been the type to believe in signs, he might have thought the scent of flowers was hers. Her sign. Her blessing.

‘’ 

James was quiet all the way back to the flat, and then some. Lewis set down his bags, then went to the bathroom to wash his face. When he came back to the living room, James was sitting on the sofa looking lost.

“Beer?” Lewis asked, going over to the fridge.

“I’d love one.”

Lewis worked the caps off the bottles, and came to sit beside James. In Italy, Lewis had pictured returning and being bowled over by grabby octopus, but James had sensed his mood, as usual, and was letting him be.

“Are you hungry? Shall I order takeaway?” James held his phone in his hand, expectant.

“That sounds nice, yeah,” Lewis answered, taking a sip of his beer.

“Chinese?”

“Sure.”

Hathaway busied himself on his phone, fingers moving over the screen. Lewis watched him. His face had changed in the years they’d known each other. Older now. It was going on six years. That face. Chin down in concentration. Eyes moving as he read. He still looked young, but in some ways he was old. He’d grown up fast, Lewis knew that.

“What would you like?” James glanced up.

Lewis relaxed back into the sofa. Except where driving was concerned, he liked being in Hathaway’s capable hands. “You know best. Only no squid. Or eels.”

“You’re safe,” James said. “I don’t think this place has either of those.” He rang the restaurant and placed the order. When he was done, he set the phone aside and took a long swallow of beer. He noticed Lewis watching him.

“Sir?”

Lewis reached out a hand, palm up. Instead of taking it, James stroked the palm lightly with two fingers. That felt nice. Tingly.

“I missed you,” Lewis said.

“I missed you, too.” Still hesitant. Uncertain.

“I missed you more than I missed Val.” Lewis could hear his voice break as he said it.

James’s fingers stilled. He leant back on the sofa, watching Lewis’s face, waiting.

“Life moves on, doesn’t it? No matter what you do.”

James’s fingers resumed their motion, and Lewis answered it, curling his fingers to skate along James’s palm in return. In silence, watching each other, they touched hands. James let his fingers stray to Lewis’s arm, which had been bared by a rolled-up sleeve. James liked to do that, Lewis had noticed. He was becoming used to those odd habits and gestures, the more intimate ones that Hathaway didn’t show the rest of the world. Lewis moved closer and leant to kiss James tentatively. His chest felt tight, and it was hard to breathe. James’s hand came up to Lewis’s jaw, thumb gentle against his skin. Lewis closed his eyes. Kisses on his eyelids, then his mouth again, the lightest touch. Lewis increased their contact, opening his mouth, suddenly wanting James’s taste, the feel of him. Beer, the cigarette James had smoked before coming in, and underneath those things, him. Just him.

When Lewis had made the decision to do this — whatever it was — with Hathaway, he’d known it would be different to being with Val — How could it not be? — but it was different in ways he hadn’t expected at all. Similar in ways that had surprised him, too. James was much grabbier, for one, although Val had been a bit grabby, too, come to think of it. Val hadn’t walked around the house naked. They’d never talked about sex. James, on the other hand, bought books on the subject! Lewis had seen one of them in Hathaway’s flat, but he’d been too embarrassed to look at it. Lewis had had to get used to making love with the lights on and the covers off. James looking at parts of him like he was going to be quizzed on the details later. Asking if Lewis liked this or that. Lewis should have expected it from someone who berated himself for not knowing every Irish prince in history. And now… James tasting the inside of his mouth like he was memorising it. Biting gently at Lewis’s bottom lip. Lewis bit back, making James huff with laughter before delving into the depths of Lewis’s mouth again, his hands doing no more than stroking Lewis’s arms, cupping his face. Lewis decided to up the ante, unbuttoning two of the middle buttons on James’s shirt and slipping his hand underneath. His fingers brushed a nipple. Funny that men had them. No reason for it.

“If you keep doing that, I can’t be responsible for answering the door when the food arrives.” James yanked at his tie, working it off.

“Dinner,” Lewis said ruefully.

“They said 45 minutes. We could…”

“I’m not hurrying, not when I haven’t seen you in over a week.” Lewis kissed him slowly, more chastely than he had before. “I got you something,” he said, remembering, and stood up to get the book from his suitcase. When he turned back to the sofa, James had his long legs stretched out in front of him, and was watching him with an inscrutable expression. “What?”

Hathaway didn’t answer, just shook his head slightly.

“You like being mysterious, don’t you?”

“It’s because I enjoy you figuring me out.”

“Here,” Lewis said without ceremony, handing James the book he’d bought. He wasn’t one for fancy wrapping. “I hope you don’t have it already.” He sat back down.

James turned the book over in his hands, studying the dark cover and gold lettering. It had caught Lewis’s eye as he had poked around in the gift shop, waiting for Lyn, who liked to buy things for everyone she knew. Augustine. Hathaway liked him. The book was lovely, too, with colour plates of stained glass windows. It was in Latin, so he’d no idea what he’d really bought.

James turned the pages silently, reverently. “The Enarrationes,” he said. “His thoughts on the Psalms.”

“Ah,” Lewis said. A good thing, then?

“The Psalms are my favourite book of the bible.” He looked up. “I don’t have this, no. It’s beautiful. Thank you.” He gave Lewis a quick kiss. “I prefer Augustine to Aquinas.”

“Why’s that?” Lewis asked. One of them was just the same as another to him.

James set the book down on the table, well away from their bottles of beer. “He understood passion and emotion. Aquinas was much more logical and academic.”

That made sense. Hathaway was clever, but it was his more intuitive side that defined him.

“In his early life, he was somewhat hedonistic, you could say. He only turned to religion later. But he understood the different kinds of love, carnal and spiritual.”

“A bit like you, then. In reverse.”

“Mm,” Hathaway agreed, resting a hand on Lewis’s leg.

They leant against one another, sipping their beers.

“Lyn thinks you’re sweet on me.”

“I am.”

“You’d never know it, the way you wind me up.”

“I like winding you up, sir.”

“I didn’t tell her it wasn’t just you sweet on me.”

“I know.” James picked at the label on his bottle of beer.

Lewis watched James’s face. How long had it been now? A month? A bit more? It felt like longer. He’d told Laura about them. That hadn’t been the easiest decision to make, but he’d felt… Something had been going on with James. They hadn’t talked about it, but Lewis had known he needed to do something, needed to show James he took him seriously. James had understood. Had given him the key to his flat afterwards, hadn’t he? It went both ways.

“I thought I might go visit her in August for the bank holiday weekend.”

James glanced at him.

“You could come with me.” Lewis paused. “She said she’d like it if I brought someone.”

“I don’t think she meant me.”

“Our Lyn’s pretty open-minded. And I can’t exactly keep it from her, can I?”

“Some people would.”

“You know me better than that.”

James set his beer down, closed the small distance between them, and latched onto him.

Lewis pulled away. “I’ll take you on one condition.”

“No rumpy-pumpy in the kitchen?” James said, pushing Lewis down onto his back.

“Two conditions, then,” Lewis managed between kisses. “I’m telling you now so I have time to train you.”

“I need training?”

“If you call me ‘sir’ in front of Lyn, you’re paying for all our pints for the next year.”

“I already pay for all our pints,” James said, making sure he had the last word.

‘’ 

When the doorbell rang fifteen minutes later, Lewis sat up, feeling dazed and hot, his back a bit achy. He hadn’t spent that long just kissing in…he couldn’t even remember. “I’ll get it.”

James lay on the sofa, looking up at him, pleased with himself.

“You cheeky sod,” Lewis said, searching for his wallet. He was in no state to answer the door, but there was nothing for it.

He opened the door, staying partly behind it. A young girl with pink and black hair held up a plastic bag.

Lewis took the bag and handed the girl her money. “Thanks.”

“Receipt’s in the bag,” she said, heading off.

Lewis closed the door. James, suddenly close, took the bag from him, set it on the coffee table, then hooked his fingers on Lewis’s hand, leading him towards the bedroom.

James’s shirt had come untucked and almost completely unbuttoned during the grabby session on the sofa, and he was pleasantly rumpled. Lewis liked it. He liked James sleepy, too. He was usually so put together.

When they got to the bedroom, Hathaway pushed him down onto the mattress, knocking the breath out of him.

“You’ll be the end of me,” Lewis complained, rolling them over. He worked on the pink shirt while James tugged at his belt and trousers. Together, they managed to get everything but the socks. Lewis left those to James and set to stripping off his own clothes. When he’d got them all off, he sank onto the bed, where James was already shoving the covers out of the way.

Having James naked and pressed up against him, head to toe, was like coming home. Lewis sighed. He’d missed the odd colour of James’s eyes. Blue-green, even a bit brown, depending on the day. Like the sea. They lay there for a few minutes, holding one another, kissing without hurry, as if they had all night. Lewis spread his fingers over the skin of James’s back, rubbing lightly, tracing patterns. Lower, he gave one bum cheek a squeeze. That made James angle his hips nearer. He’d been hard for the last quarter of an hour. Lewis felt a bit sorry for him, but it was his own fault for being so eager.

Lewis kissed James’s bony shoulder. His upper arm, muscled from rowing. The tender skin of his inner elbow. He licked at the stripe of blue vein until James made soft, desperate sounds and reached for his cock. Lewis stopped him, taking his hand and kissing the palm. There were calluses from the oars. Rough under Lewis’s lips. James turned onto his back, bringing Lewis with him, trying to press their bodies closer.

Lewis cradled James’s head in his hands. How could there have been a time when he didn’t find James beautiful? It wasn’t possible, now, to think of him any other way. Mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue. Even with his eyes closed, he knew what James looked like. He could feel all the points of contact between them, how their cocks brushed against one another, first lightly, then with more pressure. James’s hand reaching between them to touch himself.

“Sir.”

“Robbie,” Lewis corrected, biting the lobe of James’s ear. “Robbie.”

James’s voice was low with arousal. “Robbie.” He fisted his cock for a few seconds before moving his hand to Lewis’s hard-on, squeezing gently, then straying downwards, palm catching on his balls.

The touch made Lewis ache. He pressed into James’s hand. Felt fingers teasing behind. Remembered one of James’s text messages.

My ! wants your *  
If you would let me

He was direct, wasn’t he? Lewis half wanted it, half didn’t. He buried his face in the crook of James’s neck, incapable of speaking, of saying what he thought. He tasted the pale skin of James’s collarbone, sucking colour to the surface. He’d always liked women who were on the plump side, but James he liked as he was. It suited him. The lines of him, here and here, shoulder and ribs. His knobbly knees and elbows. Lewis shifted his weight to the side and bent to take James’s cock into his mouth.

“Can you — I want you here.” James pulled him back up so they were face to face again. “I missed you.”

James kissed him, then reached a long arm for the lube (another thing Lewis had had to get used to), which was where they’d left it the last time they’d been in bed. Lewis took the bottle from him, squeezed some gel onto his fingers and wrapped them around James’s cock, rubbing his thumb slowly over the head, moving the foreskin back and forth. How would it be to have that inside him? The tip of it was soft, giving way a bit beneath the pressure of his fingers, but the rest of it was unyielding and thick in his hand. He liked this part of James’s body, how he was the only one who got to see it, how he knew what to do to make James feel good.

He took his time, letting his fingers slide around in the lube, tracing the veins, the gathered bit of skin where the foreskin connected, the quite pink corona (Excited ! To see you ¡), and then moving down to James’s testicles, drawn tight against his body. Back up the shaft again, faster now. In this state, James’s kisses became erratic, sometimes missing Lewis’s mouth altogether.

“Robbie,” James said, once, very deliberately, before losing his ability to speak.

This is what James had looked like on the phone, when Lewis could only imagine him. This is what he’d looked like, breathless and falling apart. This is what he’d felt like, all the textures of him, the soft down on his belly, the coarse hair at the base of his cock. This is how he’d tasted and smelled as he came. Lewis took it all in, even as his own mind clouded with need.

“Robbie,” James said when he’d recovered. He pushed Lewis onto his back and said in his ear, “I’m doing well, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Lewis agreed as James’s slippery hand closed around him. He had no idea what James was talking about, but he couldn’t think of anything he was doing badly.

“Robbie,” James said again, straddling one of Lewis’s legs, then leaning down awkwardly to kiss him as his hand worked deftly. That twisting motion Lewis liked.

Their mouths collided, teeth and tongue. James was an enthusiastic kisser, not one to hold back. He stroked the roof of Lewis’s mouth with his tongue, and the sensation shot right to Lewis’s centre, making him shudder, making his spine turn to liquid. He laid a hand on James’s thigh to anchor himself. A finger was teasing him again, circling and pressing lightly. It felt — he liked it. Liked it more than he ever thought he would. He liked a lot of things he never thought he would. It stood to reason he’d like everything else. He spread his legs a bit, and James’s finger went inside, stroking, finding sensitive spots Lewis had never known existed. He opened his eyes to find James watching him intently. He wanted James closer, touching him more. He groped at one of James’s arms. James understood. The finger inside Lewis withdrew, but then he had an armful of octopus lying on top of him, kissing him, one hand still bringing him off. He closed his eyes again, overwhelmed. When he came, it was like something had broken away inside him, but then there was James, filling that space.

They lay still for several minutes. Lewis realised his face was pressed against James’s chest, arms wrapped tightly around him. He felt light touches on his back, soothing him.

“Sir?”

“I’m fine,” Lewis mumbled against James’s skin. He had no idea what had come over him, only that having James touch him — having him so close — he wanted that. Always, and with certainty. He’d had 20 years with Val, but he wouldn’t have 20 years with James, would he? Every day was important.

They parted. James watched Lewis closely. Kissed him. “You need dinner.”

“Mm. I’m starving,” Lewis said, but he didn’t move. He was done in.

“I could bring it to you in bed.”

Lewis made a face. “None of that. I’m getting up.” He watched James roll away and pick up his boxers off the floor. He continued not to move. He wanted James to come back to bed.

James did. But instead of getting in, he gave one of Lewis’s buttocks a light smack. “Up.”

“I’m always sleepy after.”

“I’ve noticed, sir.”

“Tosser!” Lewis forced himself to sit up. “I knew it would take more than a day to train you.”

‘’ 

As Lewis was emptying his suitcase, putting the dirty clothes into the basket and getting his toothbrush and things, James wandered into the bedroom, brushing his teeth. Lewis smiled. It was nice to have everything in its place again. He took his toiletries to the bathroom, and began to brush his own teeth. James appeared in the mirror. Lewis stepped to the side to make room for him at the sink. He was pleasantly tired and pleasantly full, feeling a bit clumsy and fuzzy, the light touches of James bumping into him sending tingles up and down his arm.

When he returned to the bedroom, James was sitting up in bed, reading the book Lewis had bought him. James closed the book and bent to set it on the floor.

“I should get another,” Lewis said, yawning. He plugged his phone into its charger.

“Another book?”

Lewis climbed into bed and pulled the rumpled covers over himself. “Bedside table. So you won’t have to put your things on the floor.”

“Oh,” James said.

Lewis realised he was still wearing his t-shirt and boxers. He was too tired to get up and take them off, even if it was nice to be naked next to James. He settled into the Robbie-shaped space in the bed, happy and warm. Beside him, James was doing something. Texting? Lewis was about to say something along the lines of _Stop texting in bed_ , but his phone beeped, distracting him. He rolled over to fumble for it. Sleepily, he stared at the message. It said:

<3

“What’s this? You’re texting me from two feet away?” Lewis gazed at his phone. “What does it mean?” He turned to James, but James just smiled at him, ears pink. “Give me time. I’ll figure it out. I figured out the other ones,” he said, setting the phone aside. “I never took you for one who would write naughty text messages.”

“Texting is an inadequate form of communication. I had to be dramatic to compensate.”

“By sending me messages about rumpy-pumpy?”

“I like it. With you.”

The pause caught Lewis’s ear. He touched a finger to James’s nose, then kissed him gently. “I know,” he said. He kissed James’s forehead, his hair, his cheek. “I know.” He reached to turn off the lamp, then he lay on his back in the darkness.

James surprised him by taking hold of his right hand and placing it on his bare chest. Lewis turned onto his side so they were facing. He could feel the beating of James’s heart under his fingers. Thump, thump, thump. James trusted him. Thump, thump, thump. Lewis closed his eyes. Thump, thump, thump. He felt like the luckiest sod on earth. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. He was.

_the end_


End file.
